The House That Built Me
by Heslen
Summary: Taking place after the fifth book, this story follows a grown-up Tory visiting Massachusetts for the first time since the accident. Written for the June Lyric Prompt Exchange. Based on the song of the same name, by Miranda Lambert. I don't own Virals.
1. Chapter 1

Yet again, she stands in an airport, checking her watch and wishing her phone was charged. Tory taps her foot impatiently. The loudspeaker had announced complications in the unloading of luggage from her flight, but she'd only flown up from Charleston. A slight delay had lengthened her flight by an hour, but it almost looks as though the extra time will double. Double, while she's standing here, waiting for a suitcase. She only plans to be here for a week and a half. Must she stand around? She's not expected anywhere for a while yet, but there's nowhere to sit except the floor, and she wants to just _walk._ Tory's sick of staring at her watch and the wall and the screen and that old man over there subtly picking his nose. She didn't know she was so keen to see her childhood hometown until she boarded the plane here, and the butterflies kicked in.

 _Will it be different?_

Of course it will. She knows that. She's been gone for eight years - time didn't pause while she was away. Massachusetts must have been growing, evolving. Without her. Tory doesn't like the thought.

What she really wants is to drag her suitcase out of the airport and back in time - eight years ago, when her apartment block smelled of coffee and there was construction tape constantly tangled around the building across the road that nobody did anything about. Eight years ago, when a challenge was that last maths problem on a revision sheet instead of a kidnapped classmate or possibly worse, a uni transfer application to fill out. Eight years ago when her mother was there to welcome her home.

There's a rattle and the sound of machinery slowly coming to life as the baggage claim gets into gear. Tory straightens up eagerly as the first case begins to poke through the curtain around the corner.

The first bag isn't hers, and neither is the second, but lo and behold, the third item that trundles along in that infuriatingly slow manner is a battered black case with _BRENNAN_ scrawled over the side in red texta. Tory smiles, because that's Shelton's sloppy handwriting. She pushes forward, even though she's really at the front of the crowd, and yanks her suitcase off the conveyor belt. The wheels snag against someone's stroller but Tory manages to pull it free without breaking anything. It's with great relief that she sets off through the terminal.

By the time the exit of the airport is in sight, the sky outside is darkening. Tory feels the difference in society slam against her like a brick wall. Here, the stars are hidden behind a heavy coating of smog, the air is thick and people don't smile at each other as they pass. Back on Morris, the sound of the sea was inescapable, spacious and mature was the norm and everyone spoke in those Southern accents that have grown on her, although she knows she'd never admit it. Here, where her old life was, the washing of the waves is replaced by traffic noises, the drawling accents are more regimented and tighter, and the entire city has a modern, almost cramped mood. Tory knows which she prefers, although there's something comforting about returning to the culture she grew up in. She's been away for eight years, but she's lived here for fourteen, and she knows her way around this place backwards.

Even though she's certain she could walk to a bus stop in less than three minutes, Tory hefts her suitcase and hails a cab. Expertly - a practice she's rusty on, but she has almost two weeks to freshen up her city skills. Unpractised or no, a cab stops for her almost immediately. She's enough of a city girl to know that she just needs to check the driver's really a cab driver before she allows him to take her somewhere, but there seem to be no issues, and in no time her bag is stowed and she's reaching for her purse.

Tory hesitates for a moment. She has a hotel room to retreat to, a Skype call to make, and some extra revision to squeeze in before bed. Sitting in a cab, though, she has a burning desire to visit home - her old home, the last one she lived in with Colleen before uprooting to Charleston. Tory makes up her mind and gives the driver the address of her old home. After paying, she requests that they take a scenic route. His answer is gruff, and his voice makes her aware of how her own accent has adjusted over the years in South Carolina. The thought makes Tory sad, like another little part of her old life is gone forever.

Back ramrod straight, purse clutched in her lap, Tory directs the driver around. She reckons he's probably annoyed by her know-it-all attitude, but he can deal with it. He'll have plenty of more manageable customers, whereas she's only here for a week and a bit. This is her time now, and besides, she's paying him, so he better suck it up, as Hi might say.

Before she really knows where they're going, the cab pulls up outside a wire link fence, and Tory tells the driver to wait as she gets out and moves closer. With each step towards the familiar boundary, Tory feels the age melting off her, and before she knows it she's a twelve-year-old girl again, staring at her last elementary school.

God, she remembers so clearly. Tory ventured out a little more during her uni studies, but before she moved to SC, she was most definitely a loner, and she's just realising now how lonesome elementary school was. She had all of two friends - a dork named Adam who was two grades above her, and an autistic kid called Shae in third grade. She sat by herself during class, and they huddled under a tree in the lunch hour. If Tory stands on her tiptoes and cranes her neck now, she can see over the fence and down the hill, to where she spent many a lunchtime with her small group of rejects - just Tory and Shae, once Adam moved up to the middle school.

When she's looked her fill, fingers tracing over imperfections on the fence (long ago, she had those imperfections memorised, but from inside the boundaries), Tory turns back to the cab. She slides in and buckles up, giving the address of the apartment block she lived in before her transfer to Charleston. A quick Google map search proves that her hotel is within reasonable walking distance of the apartment. A thrill sparks inside Tory. She's going home.

At least, somewhere that used to be home. For the first part of her life, home was wherever her mother was, because they moved around so often. Then, home became the four-storey house she shared with Kit.

Now? Tory smiles at the thought. Now she shares a small house near CU with the other Virals, where the bills and the duties are shared around like a packet of unwelcome popcorn, but at least they have separate rooms and take it in turns to sleep on the couch. Tory loves it there. Small, cramped and without a beach-front view, the house offers independence from adults (even though they're all grown up now) without the loneliness. The bills are manageable and nobody complains when there's a general lack of enthusiasm for cooking on Wednesday nights, and so they order pizza. Tory's pretty sure the pizza guy knows all four of them by name, and probably has their usual preferences memorised by now. It wouldn't surprise her if the guy knows Cooper's name, Kit and Whitney's car, and what courses the four of them are taking at which uni. Pizza isn't reserved for Wednesdays only.

The car turns right and they're on a street that's oh-so-familiar, and the memory opens up before Tory like a blossoming flower. She sees her mother's old Corolla parked across the road, that bratty kid - what's his name, William - from one of the flats in her block throwing pebbles in a gutter, the bright yellow construction tape tangled around that one mysterious building. Tory blinks, and reality shows up - William's probably flown and wed by now, the corolla is either melted down or lying in a heap in a junk metal yard, and the yellow tape... well, the yellow tape is still there. Tory's almost surprised it hasn't been dealt with, but not quite. The tape's always been up - she'd have been shocked by its absence.

Tory points to her old apartment block, even though the driver knows exactly which one she meant. Once again, Tory tells the man to wait.

"Trip down memory lane, Miss?" he asks, sounding awfully bored.

"Something like that," she murmurs, closing the door and cutting off his reply comment, if there is one. Maybe he's asleep. _Meh_ , Tory's inner teenager supplies. She doesn't care much anyway. She's enthralled by the plain, unassuming building in front of her.

Twelve stories high, Tory and Colleen's old place houses twenty families, with two small flats per floor. As she remembers it, the ground level is a lobby and the top floor is home to a common area, rarely used. Tory remembers thinking it was an attic, utilized to store useless junk nobody wanted any more. When she mentioned it to her mother, Colleen had laughed and said the statement was actually quite accurate - the common room was a collection of armchairs and broken heaters that sat there gathering dust, like Christmas ornaments in July.

She takes a small, hesitant step towards the building, then all in a rush she scurries forward. Before Tory knows she's even moved, she's through the door and standing in the lobby.

 _Still reeks of coffee,_ she thinks dumbly as she stares. The furniture is a tad different - the old grey couch with the rip in the fabric has been replaced by one of black, shining leather (probably fake), the desk looks unfamiliar, and that irritating bell has been removed from the door, replaced by lightly tinkling wind chimes that are no less annoying. The door still squeaks, though, and the wallpaper and dark carpet have remained the same. Tory's breath catches. She hasn't been here since her mother's funeral, and she's an adult now.

It's out of habit that she moves to the elevator, presses the up button, and leans against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. She grins slightly, because that's an old habit that didn't die with childhood.

Faster than she expected, the doors open for her, and Tory walks in in a daze. Her thumb jabs the eight button, and she resumes her position against the wall. Tory's eyes close, and her rational mind protests. This is a really stupid thing she's doing. Someone might call the police on her, and the boys will kill her if they have to come all the way up to testify with her, or worse, pay for bail. Still, though. Still. She has to do this, somehow.

At floor five (and Tory just knows which floor they're on, even with her eyes shut), the wall holding her up slides to the side, and deposits Tory heavily at the feet of a grey-haired woman. Tory flushes dark red. She hadn't remembered that the lift had 2 doors, and they both opened.

"Well, this is awkward," Tory mumbles to herself. She props herself up on an elbow and begins the long ascent to her feet. "Sorry," she tells the old lady, who mutely glares. They both move to go into the elevator at the same time, and the opening of the elevator won't allow for two abreast to enter. Tory steps back for the elderly woman to enter first, but treads on the lady's shoe, which elicits a cry of indignation from the woman and Tory's second dropping to the ground in as many minutes.

Just as group of young men appear around the corner. They're not bad-looking, either.

Absolutely humiliated, Tory offers numerous apologies to the elderly lady and silently presses herself against the wall of an elevator when she knows it won't disappear from behind her at a moment's notice. The three young men look amused, and she can just tell one of them is shaking with silent laughter. Tory's ears burn and she turns away, noting that the only other button that has been pressed is floor twelve.

When the doors slide open at the eighth floor, Tory's old level, she scurries out as fast as her feet will allow and ducks around a corner to hide and possibly find a spot to hibernate in. Tory smoothes her hair and takes a deep breath, telling herself she'll never see those people again, and they don't matter. What does matter is what to do now.

She's standing just outside her old home, and she'll probably never come here again. On one hand, she desperately wants to go inside, revive old memories and see the place one last time before she dies. On the other, someone else lives here now and she'd be intruding. Also, it'd be weird. What if they do call the police on her?

Tory stands and debates internally, but in the end, there's really no question. She's come this far. She may as well, but more than that, she has to. Marching up to the door of apartment 8A, Tory gives a firm knock and steps back. That's when she realises that someone's added a doorbell, so she rings that too.

It takes a few moments, but the door opens wide, revealing a middle-aged woman in a pink bathrobe. Tory blinks, and so does the woman. "Can I help you?" she asks uncertainly.

Tory clears her throat. "Um, hello. My name is Tory Brennan, I used to live here..." she trails off, not knowing how to phrase her request. The woman's expression is blank, with a hint of confusion, or is that suspicion? Tory rushes to keep talking. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time for you -"

The woman waves her concern off. "Not at all. I use this as a dressing gown. Did you want something?"

"It sounds odd, I know, but I was wondering if I could come in and have a look around?" Tory puts on her hopeful eyes, well-practised from her constant imploring to borrow Ben's car.

The woman's eyebrows raise. "I'm Grace Anders." She doesn't say more, and Tory picks up the talking.

"My middle name's Grace. Victoria Grace."

Grace smiles a little. "My middle name is Victoria. Grace Victoria. Interesting, isn't it?"

Tory nods. "Quite."

Grace stands to the side a little. "Would you like to come in, then?"

"Thank you," Tory says gratefully, stepping through the doorway and into the house that made her.

Immediately, her mind reels and suddenly she's eleven years old, slamming the door too quickly and painfully catching (and breaking) her pinky finger. At the same time she's ten years old, tripping over the rough edge of the carpet and flying into a battered hat-stand, and now she's ten, helping her mother rip up said carpet to replace it with polished floorboards as they sing along to Abba records with the volume far too high. Tory takes another step forward and is ambushed by more long-forgotten scenes; the spot she stands now was exactly where her mother spilled wine on their first night in the new apartment, there used to be a poster taped to the wall just there, she stood right here when the policeman informed her of Colleen's death...

Blinking rapidly, Tory turns to Grace. "Thanks for letting me in," she says shakily. Her eyes alight on something in the corner. "You kept our lamp," she says in surprise. Tory sold the apartment as soon as she came of age - maybe to Grace's family, or maybe it's changed hands more than once. Either way, the old silver lamp with Tory and Colleen's handmade nightshade stands exactly where Tory left it eight years ago.

Grace shrugs. "My husband and I liked the design." The shade features Colleen's stitching and Tory's sequinning, creating a colourful pattern of shapes that hoods the warm yellow glow of the light itself.

"My mother and I made it when I was eight," Tory admits. "I wanted dinosaurs, but my mother convinced me otherwise."

"I'm surprised you didn't take it with you when you moved," Grace says, closing the door. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Tory is about to refuse, but thinks better of it. What better way to see the kitchen? "Yes, please, if it's not too much trouble." She follows Grace around the dining room - a small area tucked away that used to be an extension of the living room. The kitchen has been redone - white tiling rather than the wooden floorboards, the bench has a new countertop, and the fridge has swapped places with the microwave and the oven. Grace pulls a set of mugs from a new overhead cupboard and the teabags from the pantry, setting the kettle on the way. Tory leans against the counter, making sure her hands are visible. She doesn't want Grace to get the wrong idea about her.

In no time, the tea is boiled and brewing, and Grace asks Tory what additives she'd like. Tory requests milk and sugar, while Grace has a strong black. The take a seat in the living room to sip the hot beverages.

"So how long have you lived here?" Tory asks, looking around, almost trying to memorise the place's new look.

"About a year," Grace tells her. "My husband and I wanted a smaller place after our daughter Cassidy moved out."

Tory nods. "I sold the place about... two years ago now? Three? I think three."

The conversation dies awkwardly, but Grace comes to the rescue. "What brings you back, Ms Brennan?"

"I'm in Massachusetts for a week and a half, but I just wanted to have a look around here before I went to the hotel. I just ended up outside your door, I guess. There's a taxi waiting outside for me."

"I hope he charges by the mile, not the hour," Grace laughs. "Otherwise he's eating up your cash as we speak."

"Good point," Tory frowns. She downs the rest of her tea and places the mug on the table. "I had better get going, I suppose. Could I just use your toilet quickly before I leave?"

"Of course," Grace says. "It's.. oh, I suppose you know where it is."

Heading for the kitchen, Tory deposits her mug in the sink and then goes a little down the hallway before reaching the bathroom. It's almost exactly the same as when she lived here, but with a different combination of towels, toothbrushes in the sink and soaps in the shower.

When she's done, Tory heads out to the lounge, where Grace waits, still in that pink bathrobe. "Thanks for everything," she tells the older woman, shaking hands politely.

"Pleasure. It was lovely meeting you, Victoria Grace."

"You too, Grace Victoria. I promise I didn't steal anything. Just a memory."

Grace laughs and shows her out. As the door closes behind her, Tory reflects that she didn't see much of the place, but it's refreshed her memory enough. It's time now to get to the hotel, where she can relax and maybe do some cramming for her Biology course at CU. They don't offer biology online, but she has her laptop and can look over her notes.

Tory makes it to the ground floor of the building without running into the people from her earlier embarrassment. She walks outside and takes one last look at her old place, counting up the floors and finding her old bedroom window. She lifts a hand in goodbye, then turns and heads to the cab. It's been a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Didn't expect such response from my first chapter. This will be a two-shot only (although of course I'm not very good at sticking to a small amount of chapters, or writing a multi-chap which ever gets finished). I may add extra chapters later, MAYBE, but I wasn't even planning on writing this one, let alone any more. I did like the universe I created in my head, though, so be glad for this second chapter. I do not own Virals, thanks for your support, and enjoy.**

 **Heads up, I didn't know where to cut this off, so it's pretty long-winded without a proper ending.**

 _ **SPOILERS FOR THE EXTRACT OF THE NEW SHORT STORY AND ALL BOOKS**_

* * *

It turns out, to Tory's immense relief, that the cabbie charges by the mile, not the hour, and her finance is safe for another day. He looks pleased to deposit her at the hotel, helping her somewhat ungraciously to take her suitcase. She heads up the steps to the little 3.5 star hotel she's lodging in for the week. The driver doesn't wait to see her in. He's gone before she reaches the top step. But that's okay, surliness is a critical aspect of Massachusetts taxi drivers. The guy probably wrote it on his résumé to get a job.

Tory tugs her suitcase through the glass sliding doors and finds herself in the lobby of the hotel. It's small, but well-kept. Hi had campaigned for Tory to stay in the 4.5 star _Hotel Caelestis_ a little ways down the road, but the price for four days was almost double the price of a week in the 3.5 star _Hotel Nostrae._ The names had amused Tory: both were Latin, and she isn't sure either of the names really apply to the 'hotel' business. Well, maybe _caelestis_ : heavenly. That's kind of presumptuous for only 4.5 stars, though. _Nostrae_ , on the other hand, means 'our' or 'ours', and isn't something typically associated with accommodation.

In any case, ten days in the _Hotel Nostrae_ won't kill Tory, and the Virals' funding will certainly be salvageable. The hotel's lobby is small but bright and polished. The elevators and stairs are off to the right, and to the left of the entrance is the reception area, all glossy wood and functionally-shaped furniture. The receptionist is a small perky woman with alarmingly purple hair, who smiles at Tory as she walks in. Directly in front is a small lounge area: fluffy cream-coloured carpet, orange sofas and a fireplace that isn't lit. The lighting of the lobby area is warm and yellow.

Tory heads to the reception area. "Hi," she says, pulling her suitcase to a halt beside her leg.

"Evening," says the violet-haired woman. "Checking in, are we?"

Tory nods and gives her name. "Room twelve," the woman - Amelia - tells her. She passes a key card over the counter and tells Tory to sign a receipt. As she does this, Amelia gives her the familiar hotel briefing. "Now, you need this key card to work the elevator, room twelve is on the first floor. There's a phone in your room that can reach anywhere nationally, and there's a number for the front desk, so give us a ring if you need anything. WiFi password is _NostraDame12._ Spare blankets in the closet, hair dryer in the cupboard under the sink, towel on the rack. Complementary breakfast bar closes at ten. Anything you need, just ask. Everything okay? Need any help with your luggage?"

Amelia earns Tory's permanent respect by delivering this entire speech in one breath.

"Thanks, but I'm good. Thank you." Tory tugs her suitcase and heads to the lift. Her cheeks burn as she recalls the elevator fiasco at her old place. Luckily, the lift is empty and she's only ascending one floor, so she doesn't run into anyone.

Room 12 is very close to the elevator, which in Tory's experience can be either good or bad. On one hand, it's quite convenient to be so close, but on the other, there could be a hundred screaming toddlers running past her door at 5 in the morning (well, toddling). Either way, the hallway is empty for the moment, and Tory's keen to collapse on her bed, see how comfy it is. It takes almost a full minute for her to figure out how to work the key card, but she eventually gets the door open.

The room is nice: it's square-shaped, as though the property is a square with two rectangles cut off the edges to form the bathroom and a small kitchen area with a microwave, a sink and a fridge. There's a TV in the corner and soap in the shower, and the bathroom tiles and blue carpet are clean. The main area - for the bed - is spacious: wide windows, a double bed with a few too many pillows, TV off to the side, a wooden chair, a bedside table with a lamp and a closet off to one side. Tory sets her suitcase down near the TV and chucks her handbag on the counter before grabbing her laptop out of her bag and settling down on the bed. She lies on her stomach the way she does at home: chin propping her head up and laptop open on the pillow, knees bent with her legs flopping around lazily. Familiar.

She opens Skype and requests a video conference with Shelton, who accepts within seconds. Tory smiles a little, knowing he was probably sitting in front of his laptop waiting for her call. A new window opens, showing a live video feed of a scene she recognises well: the small living room of the house the Virals share. The wall behind Shelton is a vibrant blue, and there are stacks of books on white shelves that have been nailed into the wall. There's a ceiling fan visible from this camera angle, switched off. There are some old squashy sofas against the walls, three of which are white (Hiram demanded a feature wall in most rooms, and Tory has to admit is was a good idea). Shelton sits on a battered swivel desk chair, at the desk. He turns around and yells for the others to come, and Tory waits.

Ben's there in two seconds flat, springing off the sofa and abandoning his iPad. Hi takes longer, eventually emerging from the kitchen and coming to crouch on Shelton's other side. Tory grins playfully at them all. "He-ey."

"Hey, Tor."

"'Sup."

"Mggh," says Hi, through a mouthful of pizza. Of course. It's Wednesday.

"Oh my god, you just reminded me that I haven't eaten yet," she tells the guys. "The plane landed on time, but then they took forever - an hour at least, I swear - to get the luggage off, and I was going to get food but I wasn't sure when the bags _would_ come, and I didn't want to let my suitcase just sit on the moving thingy, going round and round with nobody looking after it, might have gotten stolen. Agh." She clutches dramatically at her stomach, grateful the boys can't hear it growling.

Hi waves a slice of pizza in front of the camera. "Meatlovers," he drawls. A piece of onion drops off the slice and onto the keyboard below.

"Watch it," Shelton protests, "that thing cost a thousand dollars! More!"

"Oops," Hi says unapologetically, tilting his head back and letting a slice of pizza droop into his mouth. Tory makes a face. "Charming as ever, Hiram."

"I can't get it out!" yells Shelton, prying at the keyboard. He growls and dives at Hi, and the two boys ( _young men now,_ Tory thinks) disappear off the screen.

"So," she says to Ben, over the sound of Hi and Shelton's grappling, "I see the lack of my female influence is taking its toll."

Ben rolls his eyes. "Say that again. We haven't had anything except pizza since you left." Taking advantage of Hi and Shelton's absence, he steals Shelton's swivel chair, leaving the other two to crouch when they come back. Which they haven't.

"I've only been gone for, what, five hours? How many meals have you _eaten?_ " Tory sighs.

"We had dinner, second lunch, and afternoon tea. Although afternoon tea was leftover pizza from second lunch." Tory stifles a laugh, shaking her head disapprovingly. "You might be a little old for acne, but don't think your weight can't explode, Mr Blue." This time, she does laugh. "That said, I don't want to know what's for dessert."

Ben shrugs. "I hear they do chocolate pizzas -"

"Nope!" Tory covers her ears. "La la la la la la-"

Ben leans closer to the camera, his face filling most of the screen. Tory's mouth quirks as a foot (Hi's?) flails past in the top left corner. Dog fight, indeed. "I don't know how we're going to manage without you for ten days."

"Aw," she says without thinking, before realising Ben's probably talking about the meal situation. Ben smiles briefly anyway.

"Yeah, don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he says. Her heart leaps at the term of endearment, sarcastic or not. "Ten days, and we're missing your turn to cook twice. I think Hi might elope with the pizza guy."

A laugh bursts from inside Tory - loud and unexpected. "If the pizza guy left, you'd all follow him. I'd come back to an empty house."

"But at least there'd be no washing up," Ben points out.

She laughs again. "So, pizza aside, how are you guys holding up without my femininity?"

"I think Shelton was convinced the plane was going to crash. He kept checking the website for your flight, and he only calmed down when it said you'd landed."

"Yeah, well, I think he was checking Skype pretty frequently too. He picked up about two seconds after I called. Hi seemed to be less bothered."

"Don't be fooled. He had his laptop open in the kitchen too."

She smiles. That sounds like Hi and Shelton, alright. "And you?"

He lowers his eyes, not confident with the whole boyfriend thing, years later. "You know I miss you."

 _Aww._ "I know. But depending on how many screaming kids run past my room at five in the morning, you might be glad you didn't come."

Ben chuckles. "Still. Call me when you're not busy."

Thumbs up. "Can do."

"Should we come back later?" Hi and Shelton, having resurfaced, are grinning from the corners of the screen. Ben and Tory's relationship is old news now, and teasing is infrequent, but Hi especially often takes the opportunity to make comments. Ben's cheeks go red as always, and Tory grins privately.

"Where's Coop?" she asks. It's as good a distraction as any.

"He's asleep. Want me to wake him up?" Shelton.

Tory's expression softens. "Let him be." _You're getting old, my friend,_ she thinks sadly of Cooper. The wolfdog certainly has a few more years in him - he's only eight after all, and research states that in captivity, both wolves and dogs can live 12-14 years. Tory's hoping for 15, or really as long as possible. She doesn't like to think of Coop as close to death, and she's glad when Shelton changes the topic.

"How was the flight?"

Tory shrugs. "Not bad. I didn't have any crying babies near me, and I like flying because all the flight attendants have to be so polite to me. Makes me feel important."

This statement invokes much eye-rolling from the boys. Tory glances idly at her watch and jumps (horizontally). "Yikes! It's almost eight-thirty, I have to eat before everything closes-"

"We'd better let you go, then." Hi sounds just a tad disappointed.

"Yeah. See you later, guys. Call you tomorrow evening?"

"Yep. Same time, so eat first."

"Got it."

There are a chorus of goodbyes from the other side, and Ben mouths _I love you._ Tory catches his eye and smiles before pressing the _end call_ button.

* * *

The TV is playing some how she's not watching, as Tory shovels take-out Chinese food into her mouth. She only switched the TV on because it's lonely in the room by herself, especially after seeing the boys. It's an odd feeling, watching an environment she's so familiar with, over Skype. Sure, they talk to her, but not interacting with them puts a hollowness in her stomach.

Tory finishes off her Chinese and throws out the containers. She wipes her mouth and decides to take a shower, since there's not much else to be done. The bath products are all 'sugared citrus' scented, which is very different from her usual Lily-of-the-Valley or jasmine, but hey, Tory can make it work. She steps out of the bathroom feeling much more relaxed and refreshed, as though all traces of the plane and the cab spiralled down the drain with her shampoo. Tory pauses to look in the mirror. She's an adult now - although her taste in pyjamas remains the same as her teenage self, grown-up Tory is quite different.

She's cut her hair - it hangs down to her shoulders, with shorter bits at the front that aren't quite a side-fringe. The style is Whitney's idea, but Tory received it well: half because it's the perfect length for a French twist or knot, and half because the style reminds Tory of Ginny Weasley's haircut in the last movie. The cut makes her feel grown-up, and that's a feeling Tory likes. Ben seems to like it too, which is a bonus. At the moment, Tory's hair is damp and tangled, dripping onto her lilac pyjamas even through the fluffy white hotel towel. Her eyes - that funny shade of blue-green - are wide above dark circles, and her freckles have faded, just a little. Tory looks like her mother, version 2.0. It's something she's always been proud of.

Collapsing onto the bed, Tory opens a document with her most recent notes and begins to read over them. Not having the money or the desire to get away from Charleston and her family, Tory had little choice but to attend the University of Charleston. She's okay with that - it's a good university, local, handy, not too expensive, with some great courses and programs. She's taking the general biology course, and her electives are virology and ecology. It's providing pretty good insight into what exactly happened to her body when she became a Viral, although she's had to work the specifics out for herself. She's planning on finishing her bachelor of general biology, and then taking an accelerated course in pre-veterinary. True, it means at least six years in college, but Tory's always liked the school learning environment and besides, she'd like to be a vet. Or maybe she'll change her mind and take a med course, maybe followed by pathology. That's the thing about university - she's allowed to change her mind.

That said, the guys are pretty locked into their subjects. Shelton's planning on getting a Masters in some sort of computer science, which Tory doesn't know much about. She knows he's minoring in communications, which is pretty cool. Hi's doing pre-professional chemistry, minoring in psychology, and Ben's studying radiologic science, which Tory didn't see coming but couldn't be happier with.

Still, they have to be dedicated, to both studies and jobs. The house they share isn't rented, but there are taxes to pay. It's a good thing none of the Virals are the partying type. Ben takes Financial Aid, and Tory and Shelton are both on half scholarships. Hi's grandparents are wealthy enough to pay for his education, which attempts to make up for their absence in his life. Even so, money's tight, and all four Virals have part-time jobs. Hi works in a cinema, Shelton works at Kmart, and Ben works at the docks.

Tory's creative and works at McDonalds.

Tory winces as she thinks of all the shifts she had to cancel for this trip, then winces again when she thinks of the cost of the trip. She feels awfully guilty, but Kit and Whitney insisted on splurging the airfare, so all Tory has to pay is hotel, food and cab money. Relying on her parents is almost an insult to Tory's pride, but they have to make ends meet, so she only argues a little bit, and never in front of the guys.

Tory studies for a little bit, then reads for a bit, then sinks into a pile of pillows and watches Discovery Channel. Round ten thirty, she's had it with being awake, and falls asleep with the lights on and the TV blaring.

~Oo0oO~

At around 2:00, she wakes uncomfortably, some sort of horror show playing on the television and the lights still burning. Tory groans and stumbles to her feet, arranging the bed so it's habitable and switching off the TV. She turns the lights off and shuffles into bed. Lying down properly, in the dark, feels almost refreshing. Tory's just drifting off when her phone buzzes. Wearily, Tory rolls onto her side to look at the screen, and growls. The phone woke her up to tell her it was out of charge.

Great.

Moaning to herself, Tory switches the bedside light on, and digs in her bag for her phone charger. She plugs everything in, sets the phone on 'do not disturb' with a 7:00 alarm, and flops on the bed. Sleep comes, eventually, and then she's dreaming.

~Oo0oO~

When the alarm beeps annoyingly at 7am sharp, Tory's very much prepared to throw it out the window just to shut it up, but she has a text from Ben, so she decides against it. Rolling sideways so she's half off the bed, hanging like a discarded sock, Tory unlocks the phone to read the message.

 _Rise and shine, baby_

The text is simple but somehow heartfelt, and it puts a smile on Tory's face as she gets up to go through her usual routine. Wardrobe decision, quick shower, prepare the handbag, and out for breakfast. Tory takes a breath mint with her in lieu of doing her teeth, because she plans to leave right after breakfast without coming back to the room. It's only when she finds the room with the free breakfast that it occurs to Tory - no kids disturbed her out in the hall while she was sleeping. She hopes her luck will hold for the next nine days.

It's noisy inside the breakfast room. The air is filled with the scent of bacon, pancakes, and toast, the clattering of cutlery, the scraping of chairs, and chattering voices. The environment is warm and friendly, but it makes Tory wish she had someone to sit with. Not that she'll be the only person eating alone. Tory heads to the toaster and puts on two slices of bread. When they're done, she ladles egg on top,, and bacon on top of that, and heads off to find a seat. She ends up sitting on a window seat with her plate in her lap, staring out the window at a sight she hasn't seen for eight years - daylight Massachusetts.

When the toast is gone, Tory gets up and throws out the disposable plastic plate. She makes a coffee at the machine, then stands there and chugs it. Finished with her first cup, Tory makes a second to go. She leaves the room and walks through the lobby out of the hotel. Her cab-hailing skills are put into practice again, and she gives the cabbie the address she's heading for.

They pull out into traffic, and Tory pulls out her phone, just for something to do. She stares at it, willing for it to produce some kind of distraction. Lo and behold, just as she unlocks the screen, it vibrates in her hand. _Incoming call._ Tory wasn't expecting it, and lets out a yelp. She hopes the driver didn't notice, but she can tell from his whoulder positioning that he's laughing at her. Tory scrambles to accept the call - Kit's mobile.

"Hello?"

"Hey, kiddo," says a cheerful voice. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. They do a pretty good complementary breakfast at this hotel," Tory says, and then she remembers. "Oh - I was meant to call you yesterday too, wasn't I?"

"You were," her father says, attempting to be stern. "So, tell me all about it."

"Well, the flight was fine, but when we got off, the baggage didn't arrive for more than an hour -"

"Ouch."

"Exactly. So I was late leaving, and then I went and had a look at my old apartment, and then I went to the hotel and Skyped the boys, and had take out Chinese for dinner." Tory doesn't mention that she actually went inside her old place and had tea with the current owner.

"What's on today?"

"I'm going to see my mother's lawyer so we can sort things out from her will, and then I'm going to look through uni stuff online so I don't get too far behind."

"Sounds good. I might have to leave it there, though, there's an injured crab that needs attending to."

"Okay. See you soon."

"Bye, kiddo."

He hangs up, and Tory puts her phone away. Luckily, the lawyer's office is close, so spending the rest of the drive in silence doesn't bother her.

The driver stops outside a white-painted building, about four storeys high. Tory pays the driver and hops out of the car. She checks her watch - 8:30. She's supposed to be in there by now. Tory hurries to the door - clear glass with the names of the resident lawyers printed in white - and slips inside the building. The reception area is cool (who has their air conditioner on in this time of year?), with thin carpeting and pale green walls. Tory asks for a Mr Fraser. The receptionist directs her to the elevator and tells her Mr Fraser is on the third floor. Tory runs.

Two minutes later, Tory knocks on a white wooden door, labelled 'Mr. Zachary Fraser'. She hears a muffled 'come in!' from within the room. Wiping sweaty palms on her trousers, Tory pushes open the door and walks inside.

It's different to how she remembers it. The scribbled children's drawings that were pinned to the wall have been replaced with professional photographs, framed in dark wood. The man sitting behind the desk looks different, too - hair beginning to grey, belly a little rounder, just a bit taller. She swears he's wearing the same tie as last time she was here, though - it's purple with yellow checks. _Classy._

"Ms Brennan!" the lawyer stands and offers his hand. She shakes firmly - he has a strong grip - and replies, "Mr Fraser. It's been a while."

"Sit down!" he offers, and she sits, across from him. "It has, too. You've grown."

She bites back the urge to say _you, too_ , and smiles politely. "This is your meeting." It's an invitation to begin.

"Indeed," he starts. "I called this meeting to discuss your mother's possessions and your inheritance of them. I understand you've already sold the house?"

"Apartment. Yes. Three years ago, when I turned 18."

"Excellent. And there was no issue with collecting the profit?"

"No, I think I have it under control."

"Wonderful. Now I have a copy of your mother's will here somewhere..." Fraser lifts a folder and locates a document. "Aha! Here it is. All right, now Colleen left a considerable sum of money to charity, but you inherited everything else. The apartment - that's been sold..." he makes a note on the document with a biro. "Your monetary inheritance is $13,500 - I have no note that you have claimed this money. As far as I know, it's in the bank, collecting interest as we speak."

"So that's..." Tory does a quick mental calculation. "Upwards of sixteen grand."

"Thanks, Mom," chuckles Fraser. Tory frowns. _Insensitive, much?_ She tries not to let it show.

"In any case, the money's there for you whenever you're ready. I'll send you the account details, and you can collect your inheritance at your leisure. Next," Fraser scans the will, "next are the shares. Your mother owned two shares in a development company called -"

"I know," Tory interrupts. "I sold them already. I'm not really interested in that sort of profiting."

"Very well," says Fraser. "In that case, I'd like to talk about debts."

Tory's heart skips a beat. "Debts?"

"Not in the bank," Fraser assures her. "It would have been a problem if interest was being charged, but it isn't. There are debts owed to the funeral parlour, and a few other companies. There is also my bill. I won't bore you with the specifics, but your fund owes a total of $12,250."

"There goes my inheritance," Tory jokes lamely.

"You will have some money left over," Fraser says. "If I'm not mistaken, the total monetary inheritance including interest is currently $16,603.30."

Tory nods slowly. As much as it pains her to remember her mother's influence as simply financial, it can only be a good thing that she will leave this place $4,353.30 richer than before.

"That number will keep rising if I leave it in the bank, won't it?"

"Yes, but the interest rate is low -"

"That's okay. How urgent are the debts to be repaid?"

"My bill isn't urgent, as long as you keep me updated on your place of residency and contact details. However your mother loaned one thousand dollars from one of her clients in order to pay off one of her urgent debts, and this fund has only been partially repaid. Colleen's client is not charging interest but he has requested the money to be repaid as soon as possible."

"How much?"

"Six hundred and thirty dollars. I will send you this man's contact details, and I suggest we meet with him and his lawyer soon."

"Why his lawyer?"

"Just to ensure that you are, in fact, giving your money where it is owed."

Tory nods. Reasonable. "Do you know who this man's lawyer is?"

"No, but I have the man's details. It won't be an issue to find out. I'll finalise that before our next meeting. I would now like to discuss the property that your mother left you."

"Property? Like a house?"

"No, more like possessions. I believe it includes furniture and items belonging to Colleen before she died."

Tory blinks. "Oh. Okay. What's to discuss?" She squints. "Wait, are you a lawyer or a financial advisor?"

Fraser laughs. "I serve the purpose of both," is all he says. "Now, during storage, some of the possessions were damaged. We'll, or should I say _you'll,_ need to inspect them so you can decide whether to demand a refund or to press charges. Also, it's up to you whether to take ownership of the items, donate them to a charity, sell them, you get my drift." Fraser sits back in his chair. "If you would like me to order these possessions so that we can review them together -"

"That would be great. Thank you," Tory says. She doesn't have a clue how to go about this, and having a lawyer/financial advisor will definitely make things easier.

"Perfect," says Fraser with a smile. "Shall we meet again to discuss this soon? When are suitable times for you?"

Tory explains that she'll be here another nine days, leaving next Saturday. "I'm not doing anything set in concrete except a few appointments," Tory says. "I expect you're the one we'll have to schedule around."

They arrange to meet the day after tomorrow, Sunday, to review the possessions Tory has been left. "I'll speak to Mr Hargrave, as well," says Fraser, making note in his diary.

"Who?" Tory frowns.

"Oh. Your mother's client, whom you owe $630."

"Excellent. Thanks, Mr Fraser."

"Any time, Ms Brennan. Shall I see you out?"

She tells him no, she's fine, and heads to the door.

~oOo0oO~

At six, Tory packs away her laptop from studying and decides to find some dinner. She had lunch at a café, where she spotted a Mexican place across the road. It's withing walking distance of the _Hotel Nostrae,_ and it's a nice evening for a stroll, if you're wearing a jacket. Tory slides her arms through her coat and unclips her hair from its twist. She grabs her phone off the charger, scoops up her handbag and locks up, heading out to find some dinner.

Settling down at the table indicated by the waitress, Tory picks up the Mexican menu and glances over it. The waitress makes to leave, but Tory says quickly, "I'll have the chicken burrito and a glass of coke. No ice, please." The waitress's eyebrows raise, but she scribbles it down and takes away the menu. Tory digs out her phone and dials Ben's number.

He answers on the second ring. "Tory, are you okay?"

"Just fine. Do you have twenty minutes to talk to me while I eat? There's nobody else by themselves in here."

Pause. The line crackles. "Sure. Where are you, Tor?"

"Some Mexican restaurant. I just ordered, and I look like a loner to anybody who glances my way, so I'm trying to stay busy."

Ben laughs at her. "Should have stayed here."

"This way, I don't have to cook, wash up, or sleep on the couch."

"Who sleeps on the couch?"

"Me, when Hi stays up all night. The walls are thin."

"I guess that's fair." There's comfortable silence while Tory empties a sachet of salt into her palm. She drops a pinch of it into her mouth.

"So what's happening at home? Did Hi elope yet?" she asks.

Tory hears a spluttering in the background, and realises before Ben says anything. "I literally put you on speaker right in time for you to say that."

Tory cracks up.

"He says thank you," Ben informs her.

"Who was the one choking?"

"Shelby."

The sound of Shelton's protesting is very distinct. Tory laughs again, as the waitress shows up and leaves a tall glass of soft drink.

"I'm going to take you off speaker, these two twats are being -" he cuts off, but it's only for a second, and Ben tells her the speaker is off. Tory sips her coke.

"So you're coping without me, and everybody is still alive, I see."

"Uh huh."

"Jolly good."

"Are you still going to Skype this evening?"

"Probably. Hey, guess what?" Tory decides to tell him about how much money she's just inherited.

"We've won four thousand dollars in the lottery?"

Tory freezes. "What?! How did you guess that?"

"Funny, Brennan."

"No, seriously. My mother left me thirteen and a half grand, and with interest that expanded to sixteen and a half thousand, and then if you take off the debts, my inheritance is four thousand, three hundred and something."

There's a pause. "No way."

"You're psychic, Ben!"

Ben laughs. "Shelton wants to know if you actually did win 4k."

"Tell him."

Ben gives the other boys a quick summary.

"So what are you going to do?" Ben asks.

"I'm going to transfer the money into my account and add all my savings, then let it build up while I loan from another bank when I actually need to spend money. No, really, this is the fastest way to build it up without a full-time job."

"Watch out, or you'll turn into Scrooge."

"I have about fifteen hundred dollars in my account, so if I add that to the money I just inherited without paying the debts just yet except $630, I'll have about -" she pauses to mentally calculate - "$17370, approximately. One year's interest would make that ... $17,900. Two years interest would make that about $18,400. Then paying off the debts would leave me with six thousand dollars."

"Tory," Ben interrupts. "You're getting ahead of yourself. There's no way you won't spend any of that money."

"It's called saving up, Blue."

"What, are we not going to eat or pay taxes?"

Tory sighs. He's right. "Fine, but I'm just saying that stockpiling it in the bank and earning interest will go a lot further than keeping it in the piggy bank will."

Ben laughs. "Very true." He changes the subject. "So, did you end up eating yesterday?"

"Yeah. I got takeaway Chinese. I think I might stick to that, I wouldn't be trying not to be a loner then."

"Call me, if you get sick of Chinese food."

"Are you leaving me? My meal hasn't even arrived yet!"

"I'm still here. Hey, you want to talk to Cooper?"

Tory hears her dog's paws scrabbling over the tile floor as Coop races towards Ben. There are muffled noises, and then a whine.

"Hey, Coop," Tory says. "It's Mommy."

Ben lifts the phone away from the wolfdog just as a plate of burrito lands in front of Tory. The waitress doesn't offer anything else, probably having realised that Tory's rushing through the eating process, and seeing her phone call.

Tory shovels in forkfuls of Mexican as she listens to Ben as he recounts his day, with plenty of insults to Hi and Shelton. She sets down her cutlery as Ben concludes his epic tale, and Tory hears him walking.

"Leaving Hi and Shelton to fend for themselves?" Tory asks.

"Affirmative."

Tory signals the waitress with one hand. "I'm about to leave, so we'd better sign out. I'm sure I don't want to see the phone bill."

Ben laughs. "Okay."

"Talk to you on Skype in a few."

"I love you," Ben says, and Tory's heart flutters madly.

"I love you, too."

It's only when she arrives back at the hotel that Tory realises neither of them hung up, and by now that bill is probably astronomical.


End file.
